The trail out of the Glendalough valley follows up the rapid flowing Lugduff Brook passed the Poulanass water fall. We walked up the steep Derrybawn Mountain to climb the Lugduff Gap at Mullacar Hill. Our walk took us up 400 meters (more than 1200 feet). The scenery continues to surprise and delight us. Magnificent forests, sweeping hills of green luxurious grass. At one point of few of our pilgrims broke into "The Hills are Alive," from the movie, Sound of Music. It was a cute moment to lighten the load of the day.
The weather has been strikingly unusual for Ireland. Each day more so. The sun shone brilliantly without a cloud in the sky for the entire walk. Fortunately, we walked under the shade of the forest and a breeze seemed to always arise at the most needed moment. The forecast for the next few days is equally sunny, possibly rising to 70 degrees, which here can be warm when carrying a pack.
The weight of the pack is an issue when walking up and down the Wicklow Mountains. I made several decisions about what not to bring based on how many ounces it weighed. Even the slightest increase or decrease in what you carry on your back makes a big difference. Every pound in the pack increases the pounding on the knees and feet by about 7 pounds.
The same can be said about the amount of burden we carry. The more intense the situation, the heavier the grief, the greater the concern, the more pounding our soul takes. Walking pilgrimage grants us the privilege and the challenge of thinking about burdens over the long trail of the daily walk, day after day, step after step. The hope is that at some point along the way we will decide to set down as much weight as possible. Deciding what are the things we can really make a difference about—and letting go of those we have no control over. This kind of work is one of the reasons we choose to walk the way of the pilgrim.
We have now reached the halfway point in the Wicklow Way. But, the walk is not downhill from here. Tomorrow holds another 15 mile day beginning with another steep climb. Every day we begin again, on pilgrimage and in life.
Monday, June 30, 2014
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Sabbath in Glendalough, Day 4 of the Wicklow Way
Three days, 40 miles, we were ready for a day of rest. So, what did we do? Walk ten miles journeying around the Glendalough area. Ah well, a stretch of the leg to shake out the soreness and good for the soul as well. Well, maybe.
We gathered in the ruins of St. Mary's chapel just outside the walls of the Glendalough monastery. The walls of the chapel were built a 1,000 years ago as a refuge for mother's whose babies had died, unbaptized. The church probably existed centuries before under a less permanent structure. Here, the story goes, women served as priests until the Celtic Christians finally yielded to the Roman Church authority. Today, we celebrated our service under the guidance of the women in our group. I could feel the joy of the spirits in the place as they celebrated with us. The communion of saints gathered around the ancient holy altar as we called upon the divine to be present.
Indeed, today was a day of rest for the body, the soul, and the group. Making a pilgrimage with 13 is obviously much different than making a pilgrimage alone. We must be mindful of each other's needs, those physical, emotional, and spiritual. I could make a sports analogy here and say that we are much like a team. While sports teams have the common goal of winning, conquering their opponent, we, however, are not trying to conquer the path, nor the mountains we walk over, nor to achieve some result. Our goal is to be present to the path, one with nature, and open to the spirit.
Group dynamics are at play when 13 people walk together, eat together, spend almost every waking, and in some cases every hour together. But, being on pilgrimage together is like standing around an altar in the ruins of 1,000 year old church that existed to serve the grief of the broken hearted. We share one bread of life because we nurture one another. We share one cup of transformation because we open hearts, our souls, to the experience of one another. We walk with the pain of one another. We listen to the woundedness of another. We pray for the hurts of one another. All the while, confident our own troubles are gently cared for by the love of our fellow pilgrims.
Don't get me wrong—we are not holding hands and singing kum-ba-yah—the rawness physical stress of the pilgrimage is a mirror of the struggles of daily life. But, I pray, that the pilgrimage is a learning laboratory for how we can better live together in community. Not just for the 13 in our group, but as we return into the world we can share what we have learned in how to live, work, and play with our families, friends, work colleagues, and church. But those are days ahead. Now we have to get to the Wicklow Way. Four more days. 50 more miles.
We gathered in the ruins of St. Mary's chapel just outside the walls of the Glendalough monastery. The walls of the chapel were built a 1,000 years ago as a refuge for mother's whose babies had died, unbaptized. The church probably existed centuries before under a less permanent structure. Here, the story goes, women served as priests until the Celtic Christians finally yielded to the Roman Church authority. Today, we celebrated our service under the guidance of the women in our group. I could feel the joy of the spirits in the place as they celebrated with us. The communion of saints gathered around the ancient holy altar as we called upon the divine to be present.
Indeed, today was a day of rest for the body, the soul, and the group. Making a pilgrimage with 13 is obviously much different than making a pilgrimage alone. We must be mindful of each other's needs, those physical, emotional, and spiritual. I could make a sports analogy here and say that we are much like a team. While sports teams have the common goal of winning, conquering their opponent, we, however, are not trying to conquer the path, nor the mountains we walk over, nor to achieve some result. Our goal is to be present to the path, one with nature, and open to the spirit.
Group dynamics are at play when 13 people walk together, eat together, spend almost every waking, and in some cases every hour together. But, being on pilgrimage together is like standing around an altar in the ruins of 1,000 year old church that existed to serve the grief of the broken hearted. We share one bread of life because we nurture one another. We share one cup of transformation because we open hearts, our souls, to the experience of one another. We walk with the pain of one another. We listen to the woundedness of another. We pray for the hurts of one another. All the while, confident our own troubles are gently cared for by the love of our fellow pilgrims.
Don't get me wrong—we are not holding hands and singing kum-ba-yah—the rawness physical stress of the pilgrimage is a mirror of the struggles of daily life. But, I pray, that the pilgrimage is a learning laboratory for how we can better live together in community. Not just for the 13 in our group, but as we return into the world we can share what we have learned in how to live, work, and play with our families, friends, work colleagues, and church. But those are days ahead. Now we have to get to the Wicklow Way. Four more days. 50 more miles.
Roundwood to Glendalough, Day 3 of the Wicklow Way
Each morning our group gathers for a prayer before we leave. The litany breathes our prayers to the Eternal. We pray for Mother Earth to guide us through the four directions and we pray for Father Sky to be gentle with us. Our prayers find root within us and we share the blessings of a good walk through brilliant weather. We pray for others, that they may experience gentleness on their own pilgrimage.
We also know others pray for us, our families and our community. Our pilgrim group has been blessed in prayers from our friend Rob, who has posted his prayers for us each day on Facebook. Thank you Rob. To see your prayer and encouragement each morning is spiritually empowering. The words are as if the Divine is speaking them into our bodies and souls. Prayer is powerfully carried and passed like a loving embrace. The imprint of our prayers rests gently on the hearts of those for whom we pray.
Our walk from Roundwood to Glendalough was 10 miles over rolling hills and through the beautiful ancient forests of pine and cypress. From the peaks we could see the miles of pastured fields where sheep and cattle nestled. Across a field where a black and roan horse were munching on the luscious grass, two dear stood near them just long enough to get a picture.
The payoff for today's hike was standing on the eastern ridge above Saint Kevin's monastery and the two lakes of Glendalough. The view can only be seen on the walk from the particular path we were on. I have seen the monastery from other vantage points and in my opinion, none are as spectacular. To see the monastery's high tower and the two dark lakes from the same perspective of pilgrims for the past 1500 years connected me with those fellow spiritual travelers. Foot to earth, burden of sweat dripping to soil, pounding of heart in rhythm with others, seeking the spirit of the divine, all shared with thousands who have walked this way—the Way of Pilgrimage.
We also know others pray for us, our families and our community. Our pilgrim group has been blessed in prayers from our friend Rob, who has posted his prayers for us each day on Facebook. Thank you Rob. To see your prayer and encouragement each morning is spiritually empowering. The words are as if the Divine is speaking them into our bodies and souls. Prayer is powerfully carried and passed like a loving embrace. The imprint of our prayers rests gently on the hearts of those for whom we pray.
Our walk from Roundwood to Glendalough was 10 miles over rolling hills and through the beautiful ancient forests of pine and cypress. From the peaks we could see the miles of pastured fields where sheep and cattle nestled. Across a field where a black and roan horse were munching on the luscious grass, two dear stood near them just long enough to get a picture.
The payoff for today's hike was standing on the eastern ridge above Saint Kevin's monastery and the two lakes of Glendalough. The view can only be seen on the walk from the particular path we were on. I have seen the monastery from other vantage points and in my opinion, none are as spectacular. To see the monastery's high tower and the two dark lakes from the same perspective of pilgrims for the past 1500 years connected me with those fellow spiritual travelers. Foot to earth, burden of sweat dripping to soil, pounding of heart in rhythm with others, seeking the spirit of the divine, all shared with thousands who have walked this way—the Way of Pilgrimage.
Saturday, June 28, 2014
Knockree to Roundwood, Day 2 of the Wicklow Way
This was the third time I have the walked the 16 miles from Knockree to Roundwood. The walk encompasses the valleys, the mountains, the forests, the fields of Irelands. The glorious Powerscourt water fall and sweeping pastures are spectacular. And then there is the dreaded White Hill, the highest point in Ireland.
Twice before I walked over White Hill, known so because of its vast reservoir of quartz. Both times I had made my way over the bald hill, the weather was horrid. The wind blew 40-50 miles per hour, driving the rain sideways from the ocean coast in the east. The fog was so dense I could barely see my hand in front of my face. Frankly, the walk was miserable. In both cases, I dragged myself off the hill, drenched and glad to be past the experience.
Today was a brilliant contrast. Overcast skies with a peeking sun. Lovely breezes. Perfect temperature. It was so hard for me to imagine what I had been unable to see walking over White Hill. And today, there it was, the vast panorama of Ireland's eastern coast, miles of luxurious emerald greenery, a granite sheer mountain, and Guinness Lake all bathed in a misty the misty moving clouds. What was unseen was now seen. The mystery of what was behind the thin veil was now revealed. The paradox of the opposites of the divine had made herself known. Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Pilgrimage continues to do her work in my life. I've walked the Hill three times. I pray to walk it a fourth. Each time, I did not know what to expect. The fourth will reveal another side of the Hill's majesty and yet another unfolding in my own life. To pilgrimage is to hold lightly the possibility of surprise, that which is discovered in the Creator and the Creation—to find newness in both the divine and her the world she created—and in myself. Today's experience will take years for me to unpack the power and mystery that has been worked in my soul.
Today was also a day to be privileged to journey with others. To watch them experience the holy, the mystical, the divine. To witness them stand on open edges of the heights and open their arms to embrace the clouds move to kiss their faces. Tears filled my eyes and joy flooded my heart. Their stories make my story complete. I, indeed, am humbled by their courage, perseverance, and gleeful joy at seeing the majesty of the Hill, for the first time, as did I. Just brilliant. Blessed be.
Twice before I walked over White Hill, known so because of its vast reservoir of quartz. Both times I had made my way over the bald hill, the weather was horrid. The wind blew 40-50 miles per hour, driving the rain sideways from the ocean coast in the east. The fog was so dense I could barely see my hand in front of my face. Frankly, the walk was miserable. In both cases, I dragged myself off the hill, drenched and glad to be past the experience.
Today was a brilliant contrast. Overcast skies with a peeking sun. Lovely breezes. Perfect temperature. It was so hard for me to imagine what I had been unable to see walking over White Hill. And today, there it was, the vast panorama of Ireland's eastern coast, miles of luxurious emerald greenery, a granite sheer mountain, and Guinness Lake all bathed in a misty the misty moving clouds. What was unseen was now seen. The mystery of what was behind the thin veil was now revealed. The paradox of the opposites of the divine had made herself known. Brilliant. Just brilliant.
Pilgrimage continues to do her work in my life. I've walked the Hill three times. I pray to walk it a fourth. Each time, I did not know what to expect. The fourth will reveal another side of the Hill's majesty and yet another unfolding in my own life. To pilgrimage is to hold lightly the possibility of surprise, that which is discovered in the Creator and the Creation—to find newness in both the divine and her the world she created—and in myself. Today's experience will take years for me to unpack the power and mystery that has been worked in my soul.
Today was also a day to be privileged to journey with others. To watch them experience the holy, the mystical, the divine. To witness them stand on open edges of the heights and open their arms to embrace the clouds move to kiss their faces. Tears filled my eyes and joy flooded my heart. Their stories make my story complete. I, indeed, am humbled by their courage, perseverance, and gleeful joy at seeing the majesty of the Hill, for the first time, as did I. Just brilliant. Blessed be.
Friday, June 27, 2014
Dublin to Knockree the Wicklow Way
Our thirteen pilgrims gathered in Marley Park at the western edge of Dublin. The day was perfect for walking, overcast, 65 degrees, and a slight breeze. We stood in a circle under a tree at the beginning place for the Wicklow Way. There we prayed prayers from the Pilgrim's Prayer Book, a book in its most primitive stages that I hope to complete of the next few years. My hope is to gather prayers written by other pilgrims who have walked Mother Earth's many trails.
The climb out of Dublin provided a panoramic view of the Bay of Dublin. The sky was clear enough to see completely across the bay. The climb is a bit over 400 meters, about 1300 feet. A signed along the trail warned hikers that this trail is a "muscle builder." The first few miles are usually the hardest, adjusting the pack, getting orientated to the trail, balancing excitement with pace.
Our trail took us south over Fairy Castle Mountain, a wide sweep swath of bald boggy grass. The view of the surrounding plush dark green valleys is spectacular. The hard part is choosing which of the boundless opportunities to stop and take a picture. Between the group we will have a countless number of photos.
Our group began to spread out within a few miles, everyone finding their own pace. Those ahead would stop a key points to make sure those in the back where making their way without too much difficulty. We stopped at seven miles, the half way point, on Baranaraltry Bridge for a breather and a snack. The clouds drew darker, the wind picked up, the temperature dropped, by the rain skirted us.
The climb through up the Glencullen Mountain affords the opportunity to look into the deep dark forest, trying to imagine that someone had to journey this way first to cut a trail. Under the ancient trees, the ground is barren from the absence of light for centuries. We walked in the light of an open path, but stopping to look into the darkest forest, we had to let our eyes adjust just to see ten feet under the trees. Truly an eerie and haunting sight.
Of course every pilgrimage will have a "little story." The sign which had directed me the Knockree Hostel two years ago was missing. We crossed the road the hostel is on and walked down the trail about 200 yards. I could feel something was wrong. We stopped and called the hostel, indeed we needed to back track a bit. When we arrived we asked about the three of our group that had walked out ahead. Unfortunately they had not arrived. We began trying to call them. Made several failed attempts and waited anxiously. They showed up about an hour later, they too had walked past the hostel. But they had traveled about 3 km, 2.1 miles, before seeing a sign posted map. Realizing they had walked too far, they cut through the fields and created their own short cut back to the hostel. Not too much worse for the wear.
This morning I am looking south over Glencree and the Crone forest, preparing to walk over White Hill, a gain of 500 meters. The sun is shining, a rare day. But I can see the clouds gathering in the south. We shall see what lies ahead.
The climb out of Dublin provided a panoramic view of the Bay of Dublin. The sky was clear enough to see completely across the bay. The climb is a bit over 400 meters, about 1300 feet. A signed along the trail warned hikers that this trail is a "muscle builder." The first few miles are usually the hardest, adjusting the pack, getting orientated to the trail, balancing excitement with pace.
Our trail took us south over Fairy Castle Mountain, a wide sweep swath of bald boggy grass. The view of the surrounding plush dark green valleys is spectacular. The hard part is choosing which of the boundless opportunities to stop and take a picture. Between the group we will have a countless number of photos.
Our group began to spread out within a few miles, everyone finding their own pace. Those ahead would stop a key points to make sure those in the back where making their way without too much difficulty. We stopped at seven miles, the half way point, on Baranaraltry Bridge for a breather and a snack. The clouds drew darker, the wind picked up, the temperature dropped, by the rain skirted us.
The climb through up the Glencullen Mountain affords the opportunity to look into the deep dark forest, trying to imagine that someone had to journey this way first to cut a trail. Under the ancient trees, the ground is barren from the absence of light for centuries. We walked in the light of an open path, but stopping to look into the darkest forest, we had to let our eyes adjust just to see ten feet under the trees. Truly an eerie and haunting sight.
Of course every pilgrimage will have a "little story." The sign which had directed me the Knockree Hostel two years ago was missing. We crossed the road the hostel is on and walked down the trail about 200 yards. I could feel something was wrong. We stopped and called the hostel, indeed we needed to back track a bit. When we arrived we asked about the three of our group that had walked out ahead. Unfortunately they had not arrived. We began trying to call them. Made several failed attempts and waited anxiously. They showed up about an hour later, they too had walked past the hostel. But they had traveled about 3 km, 2.1 miles, before seeing a sign posted map. Realizing they had walked too far, they cut through the fields and created their own short cut back to the hostel. Not too much worse for the wear.
This morning I am looking south over Glencree and the Crone forest, preparing to walk over White Hill, a gain of 500 meters. The sun is shining, a rare day. But I can see the clouds gathering in the south. We shall see what lies ahead.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
The Finger of God
I made my third visit to Newgrange and Knowth, both which are near the Boyne River fifty miles north of Dublin, Ireland. The 5,000 year-old sites are two of 40 burial mounds in Ireland. The mounds were built 500 years before the pyramids and 1,000 years before Stonehenge. Newgrange is the most famous. Nearby is Knowth, the largest of the mounds, containing the most substantial collection of paleographic art. Visitors are led on guided tours around and inside the tombs where the ancients buried cremains, presumably of their chiefs and shamans.
Newgrange sits majestically on a hill like a three dimensional mandala. Forty feet high and approximately 250 feet in diameter, the mound can be seen for miles. The construction of the Stone Age monuments took hundreds of people decades to finish. The engineering was genius. The will and labor of the people is hard to fathom. Thousands of tons of dirt rests upon a circle of ten ton curb stones, which are etched with spirals and other archetypal art. The quartz facade reflects the eastern sun, almost blinding on a sun drenched day.
The focal point of Newgrange lies 96 feet deep within the mound. Fifteen visitors at a time are guided into the entry way, a sacred space, by crouching below a four foot guardian stone down a very narrow path. Not recommended for the clausterphobic There, deep within the dark tomb is a fifteen foot circular space with three niches in cruciform. Twenty feet above the floor is a stroke of engineering genius, the stone roof that has kept the structure intact and dry for milllinea. Within the niche crypts rest a bowl like stone that held the cremains. Each niche is complete with its own art etched in stone.
The uniqueness of Newgrange is the light box above the entrance. On the Winter Solstice the rising sunlight streams into the tomb's center like the finger of God. For sixteen minutes the solstice light pours down the light box onto the floor of the tomb's holy circle like molten lava, lighting the interior stones with an iridescent glow. Then, as the sun continues its arc, the finger of god moves slowly out of the tomb taking the souls of the departed. The tour guide's description and the simulation while in the tomb was better than the best liturgy in the finest sanctuary of any religion. For the Winter Solstice, 120 fortunate people are drawn by lottery to enter the tomb on one morning during the six days the light shines down the box. Along with my name, 30,000 other hopefuls placed their entry form at the Visitor's Center.
This is my fifth sojourn to Ireland. I'm already planning to lead another pilgrimage group in 2015. I know I will return to Newgrange because my soul is drawn to this place like a dry and thirsty body aches for cool fresh water. i doubt I will grow weary of feeling like I am home in this divine space.
Newgrange sits majestically on a hill like a three dimensional mandala. Forty feet high and approximately 250 feet in diameter, the mound can be seen for miles. The construction of the Stone Age monuments took hundreds of people decades to finish. The engineering was genius. The will and labor of the people is hard to fathom. Thousands of tons of dirt rests upon a circle of ten ton curb stones, which are etched with spirals and other archetypal art. The quartz facade reflects the eastern sun, almost blinding on a sun drenched day.
The focal point of Newgrange lies 96 feet deep within the mound. Fifteen visitors at a time are guided into the entry way, a sacred space, by crouching below a four foot guardian stone down a very narrow path. Not recommended for the clausterphobic There, deep within the dark tomb is a fifteen foot circular space with three niches in cruciform. Twenty feet above the floor is a stroke of engineering genius, the stone roof that has kept the structure intact and dry for milllinea. Within the niche crypts rest a bowl like stone that held the cremains. Each niche is complete with its own art etched in stone.
The uniqueness of Newgrange is the light box above the entrance. On the Winter Solstice the rising sunlight streams into the tomb's center like the finger of God. For sixteen minutes the solstice light pours down the light box onto the floor of the tomb's holy circle like molten lava, lighting the interior stones with an iridescent glow. Then, as the sun continues its arc, the finger of god moves slowly out of the tomb taking the souls of the departed. The tour guide's description and the simulation while in the tomb was better than the best liturgy in the finest sanctuary of any religion. For the Winter Solstice, 120 fortunate people are drawn by lottery to enter the tomb on one morning during the six days the light shines down the box. Along with my name, 30,000 other hopefuls placed their entry form at the Visitor's Center.
This is my fifth sojourn to Ireland. I'm already planning to lead another pilgrimage group in 2015. I know I will return to Newgrange because my soul is drawn to this place like a dry and thirsty body aches for cool fresh water. i doubt I will grow weary of feeling like I am home in this divine space.
Monday, June 23, 2014
Agile Transformation
Over lunch yesterday, my son-in-law Phil, talked about business strategy. In a passing comment he mentioned the idea of agile transformation. I was attracted to the term and after awhile went back and asked him what exactly that means.
In software development terms - the old school way of doing things was to have an idea, then spend 6 months thinking about all the ways you and your team want that product to look 2 years from now, all the bells and whistles. Then spend 6-12 months developing the product. Then 6 months testing the product. And then produce, package, market, sell. The customer is at the end of flow - a waterfall affect he said.
Agile transformation style, however, is when someone comes up with an idea and then develops a simple product, not focusing on a three year strategic plan. In the earliest stages the producer engages the customer for feedback. After which, the developer goes back and adds the next levels of the product based on customer feedback. Much like a small business, Phil said. You have to put the customer first seeking feedback constantly to stay in business by meeting the customer's needs. Product and process are more important than industry standards.
Listening to Phil, it dawned on me that the idea of agile transformation has lots of implications for pilgrimage and for the Church.
For pilgrimage - it is one step at a time, constantly monitoring one's progress and then adapting to the path, the body, the experience. Like when Cathy was training so well and then broke her toe six weeks before the trip. She had to change her strategy, be agile. And actually the whole experience, I believe, was agile transformation for her - for me - and I believe will be for everyone else who will witness the pilgrimage experience with her. The individual who has a dream or encounters a problem can be agile and work on the issue on step at a time. Often times we imagine the end result and let that hold us captive. Cathy could have said, well, that's it, I'm done, dream of walking the Wicklow Way is over. She could have thought that even if her toe healed she would never be fit enough to walk the 90 miles. Instead, she used alternative ways to bring quick healing to her toe and in the meantime found different ways to improve her training - she used agile transformation.
For the Episcopal Church, it is using the waterfall process while giving tacit lip service to transformation of any kind, agile included. What if the church were more responsive to the tides of societal change and the needs outside the Club? Of course, that is difficult because we are required to use the "new" 1979 BCP for worship. If I walked out on the street and tried to sell anyone a "new" anything that was developed in 1979 I would be mocked. When will new and alternative means of worship be allowed in the Church? Anyone's guess. Indeed, ancient is instructive, and that's why I love the Church. But's that also why I grow weary of the Church's waterfall method of developing new strategies. The death of the Church of Ireland is a foretaste of what lies ahead for the Episcopal Church. Museum churches serving the dying elderly, while charging tourist to keep the boat float. There must an ancient/future way of thinking, agile transformation thinking, where to two walk side by side. Admittedly, the concept does seem to be cumbersome, maybe near impossible, for an institution, especially one so deeply steeped in the past. So, maybe the idea works better individually and on smaller scales, like the local church? I'll have to keep playing with the idea.
I do see though a good piece in my book on pilgrimage being related to the idea of agile transformation.
In software development terms - the old school way of doing things was to have an idea, then spend 6 months thinking about all the ways you and your team want that product to look 2 years from now, all the bells and whistles. Then spend 6-12 months developing the product. Then 6 months testing the product. And then produce, package, market, sell. The customer is at the end of flow - a waterfall affect he said.
Agile transformation style, however, is when someone comes up with an idea and then develops a simple product, not focusing on a three year strategic plan. In the earliest stages the producer engages the customer for feedback. After which, the developer goes back and adds the next levels of the product based on customer feedback. Much like a small business, Phil said. You have to put the customer first seeking feedback constantly to stay in business by meeting the customer's needs. Product and process are more important than industry standards.
Listening to Phil, it dawned on me that the idea of agile transformation has lots of implications for pilgrimage and for the Church.
For pilgrimage - it is one step at a time, constantly monitoring one's progress and then adapting to the path, the body, the experience. Like when Cathy was training so well and then broke her toe six weeks before the trip. She had to change her strategy, be agile. And actually the whole experience, I believe, was agile transformation for her - for me - and I believe will be for everyone else who will witness the pilgrimage experience with her. The individual who has a dream or encounters a problem can be agile and work on the issue on step at a time. Often times we imagine the end result and let that hold us captive. Cathy could have said, well, that's it, I'm done, dream of walking the Wicklow Way is over. She could have thought that even if her toe healed she would never be fit enough to walk the 90 miles. Instead, she used alternative ways to bring quick healing to her toe and in the meantime found different ways to improve her training - she used agile transformation.
For the Episcopal Church, it is using the waterfall process while giving tacit lip service to transformation of any kind, agile included. What if the church were more responsive to the tides of societal change and the needs outside the Club? Of course, that is difficult because we are required to use the "new" 1979 BCP for worship. If I walked out on the street and tried to sell anyone a "new" anything that was developed in 1979 I would be mocked. When will new and alternative means of worship be allowed in the Church? Anyone's guess. Indeed, ancient is instructive, and that's why I love the Church. But's that also why I grow weary of the Church's waterfall method of developing new strategies. The death of the Church of Ireland is a foretaste of what lies ahead for the Episcopal Church. Museum churches serving the dying elderly, while charging tourist to keep the boat float. There must an ancient/future way of thinking, agile transformation thinking, where to two walk side by side. Admittedly, the concept does seem to be cumbersome, maybe near impossible, for an institution, especially one so deeply steeped in the past. So, maybe the idea works better individually and on smaller scales, like the local church? I'll have to keep playing with the idea.
I do see though a good piece in my book on pilgrimage being related to the idea of agile transformation.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
Pilgrimage begins
Going through airport security is always a hassle. As my hair has gotten longer and the tattoos have emerged out of hiding I got searched more and more often. I've gotten so sick of it that Cathy and I went through the process of getting Global Entry cards. I thought for sure that would solve the problem. Not quite. The second time I went through the special line I got pulled out and sent through the other line for more scrutiny. When I handed my identification to the person they said the ID didn't look like me. "In this picture," he said. "You looked like a banker. Now you look like a biker. What happened?" I told him I didn't like that person. The person in the picture was a wall keeping people from seeing the real me—this person you now see. He smirked and waved me on.
Good thing he didn't ask me how I got to this point. That indeed would have taken more time than he or the people behind me would have tolerated. Actually, I'm writing a book about that story. The book title is Pilgrimage: A Way of Life.
Walking, taking one step at a time, is transformative. Place the walking in a mystical forest like the Wicklow Mountains and the transformation begins to work the whole person, body, mind, soul. That's what a pilgrimage is—walking for the sake of being shaped by the experience. This is my fourth pilgrimage. I've learned that I don't know what's going to happen to my body, or my mind, or my soul. I just know to be open to whatever will happen. I trust the pilgrimage itself to know what I need. I trust the path, no matter how difficult. I trust the weather, no matter how unpredictable. I trust the forest, no matter how dark. I trust the trees, the birds, the animals to speak their word, for I will listen. I trust all because all of it, and more I have yet to see, is the pilgrimage.
Thirteen of us begin walking the Wicklow Way on June 26. The pilgrimage has already begun. Pilgrims are making their way here. Bags have been delayed. Pilgrims have been delay. But no one has been deterred, for the lure of the pilgrimage and her ever fetching of us never ceases. We hear and our feet respond.
Good thing he didn't ask me how I got to this point. That indeed would have taken more time than he or the people behind me would have tolerated. Actually, I'm writing a book about that story. The book title is Pilgrimage: A Way of Life.
Walking, taking one step at a time, is transformative. Place the walking in a mystical forest like the Wicklow Mountains and the transformation begins to work the whole person, body, mind, soul. That's what a pilgrimage is—walking for the sake of being shaped by the experience. This is my fourth pilgrimage. I've learned that I don't know what's going to happen to my body, or my mind, or my soul. I just know to be open to whatever will happen. I trust the pilgrimage itself to know what I need. I trust the path, no matter how difficult. I trust the weather, no matter how unpredictable. I trust the forest, no matter how dark. I trust the trees, the birds, the animals to speak their word, for I will listen. I trust all because all of it, and more I have yet to see, is the pilgrimage.
Thirteen of us begin walking the Wicklow Way on June 26. The pilgrimage has already begun. Pilgrims are making their way here. Bags have been delayed. Pilgrims have been delay. But no one has been deterred, for the lure of the pilgrimage and her ever fetching of us never ceases. We hear and our feet respond.
Sunday, June 15, 2014
When Leadership and Spiritual Direction Meet
Surreal. Just plain otherworldly. I feel like a dream has materialized into my reality. Writers write to write. To express feelings. To live into the images they see in their mind’s eye. To bring to life the world in which they live. True writers write not to be published, but to be heard. Still, writers have that deep need to be published, as a way of throwing their words into the universe. Much of what writers write ends up buried in a closest, hidden on a thumb drive, or worse yet, deleted. Yet, every once-in-awhile, for a wanta-be writer like me, it happens. The baby, the damnation of the blank page, the desire of heart, finds the light of day. Someone, for some reason, believes in your work. Those years of sitting in front of a screen, materializes into a book. Published by a credible publishing house. And there is it. You hold it. You see it for sale on Amazon. The imagination becomes tangible.
Almost four years ago I submitted a query letter to Alban Publishing. I’ve done that dozens, maybe a hundred times before, nothing. So, I was shocked, in disbelief, when I received a personal email asking for a proposal and three sample chapters. I had to re-read the email three times. Then I asked my wife to read it. Just to make sure I wasn’t projecting some misplaced hope onto the request.
For two years, I worked with Beth Gaede, a meticulous editor and wise guide. I will forever be grateful for her patience and insight. She challenged me. Made me angry. Forced me to delete whole sections. Then she inspired me to write again. To work. I got better with every re-write. Finally finished, then to the copy editor. Off to the proof-reader. Almost ready.
But wait! Something was happening—actually something was not happening. Nothing was moving. Beth didn’t know what was going on. I couldn’t get anyone at the Alban Institute office to talk to me. A few frustration filled months went by. Then an email from an Alban editor—the publishing arm of the Institute was being sold to another company. All will be well, he told me. Oh shit, what will happen now. Will my book get buried? Lost in transaction? More months of silence.
Then, late one Friday afternoon I received an email from Rowman and Littlefield. One of the ten largest publishing houses in the US now had my book and they were ready to move forward. That was the best Friday afternoon email I think I’ve ever gotten—nope, I’m sure of it.
Now When Leadership and Spiritual Direction Meet: Reflections and Stories for Congregational Life is in print. When I return from Ireland we’ll plan a few signing parties. Writing that is weird. Saying it out loud sounds strange. Reading it makes me smile.
Yes. I’m writing another book. Working title—Pilgrimage: A Way of Life. Still waiting for a response from another publisher. I love this way of life, truly I do! Keep writing.
Almost four years ago I submitted a query letter to Alban Publishing. I’ve done that dozens, maybe a hundred times before, nothing. So, I was shocked, in disbelief, when I received a personal email asking for a proposal and three sample chapters. I had to re-read the email three times. Then I asked my wife to read it. Just to make sure I wasn’t projecting some misplaced hope onto the request.
For two years, I worked with Beth Gaede, a meticulous editor and wise guide. I will forever be grateful for her patience and insight. She challenged me. Made me angry. Forced me to delete whole sections. Then she inspired me to write again. To work. I got better with every re-write. Finally finished, then to the copy editor. Off to the proof-reader. Almost ready.
But wait! Something was happening—actually something was not happening. Nothing was moving. Beth didn’t know what was going on. I couldn’t get anyone at the Alban Institute office to talk to me. A few frustration filled months went by. Then an email from an Alban editor—the publishing arm of the Institute was being sold to another company. All will be well, he told me. Oh shit, what will happen now. Will my book get buried? Lost in transaction? More months of silence.
Then, late one Friday afternoon I received an email from Rowman and Littlefield. One of the ten largest publishing houses in the US now had my book and they were ready to move forward. That was the best Friday afternoon email I think I’ve ever gotten—nope, I’m sure of it.
Now When Leadership and Spiritual Direction Meet: Reflections and Stories for Congregational Life is in print. When I return from Ireland we’ll plan a few signing parties. Writing that is weird. Saying it out loud sounds strange. Reading it makes me smile.
Yes. I’m writing another book. Working title—Pilgrimage: A Way of Life. Still waiting for a response from another publisher. I love this way of life, truly I do! Keep writing.
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Saint Brigid's Community comes to close
Saint Brigid’s Community began as an idea while I was on a retreat in Glendalough, Ireland. In 2004 The Rev. Daniel Richards and I were rooming together on an eight-day retreat. We had stayed up very late and drank way too much from a bottle of Jameson.
One of us said, “Hey, when we get back to Phoenix, we should start a group.”
The other one said, “Yeah, for young adults.”
“We should name it something provocative.”
“Yeah, something Irish.”
“And it should be about questions.”
“Yeah, even, the God question. You know, is there a God?”
“And when the thing, the group, is over, done, dead, we’ll know it.”
“Yeah, and we’ll let go.”
“Yeah. Good night man.”
“Yeah, good night.”
The next day we learned that the Gaelic word for pilgrim is peregrini. A new group was born. We started meeting once a month at Fair Trade Café next to Trinity Cathedral in downtown Phoenix. Soon we were meeting once a week, cooking a meal, and gathering pilgrims who placed their stones in the water of transformation.
In 2005, the bishop hired me to be the chaplain for the Episcopal Campus Ministry at Arizona State University, Tempe. Chad Sundin and I started a Sunday night worship service on campus at Danforth Chapel. Daniel and I continued Peregrini for a while at Fair Trade Café. Then Daniel decided to take his stone out of the Peregrini water. He moved on, but left a stone as a marker of being with us on the journey.
In 2006, I went on another Irish pilgrimage. This time I walked from Dublin to Kildare, the home of Saint Brigid. I fell in love with all she stood for—strength, bold inclusion, and service. When I came back from Ireland, Chad and I morphed the Sunday night gathering with Peregini and changed the name to Saint Brigid’s Community. In the meantime, I was also appointed vicar at Saint Augustine’s Episcopal Parish. Saint Brigid’ Community was moved to the parish. We experimented with several types of services, formats, days, and times.
For the next few years, Saint Brigid’s Community grew in vibrancy, mission, and number. Often we had over forty people show up for worship and conversation on a Thursday night. We had outreach ministries to children, the homeless, and immigrants. As with all young adult communities, the group was transient. People moved on, got tired, confused at times, even angry. Those who left took their stones out of the water of transformation. Those stones joined Daniel’s as a marker of walking with us on the journey.
Then in 2012, I went on yet another pilgrimage. This time I walked across Ireland, 353 miles. My soul went through significant shaping, intense transformation, a soul-morphing. As I walked, I listened to Spirit about what life would be like when I returned home. In the dark forest of Ireland I heard the word that Saint Brigid’ Community would come to an end. Honestly, I didn’t want to hear that word. I ignored what I heard and kept doing the work. I was violating the commitment Daniel and I had made in 2004. I could not let go.
Now its 2014, and in a few weeks I will leave again to walk the Wicklow Way in Ireland, this time with some of the Saint Brigid’s Community. The trip will be a part of a four-month sabbatical for me. I decided a month ago that while on pilgrimage in Ireland I would walk with the question of whether to let go of Saint Brigid’s Community and let it come to its end. But, I had already been given the answer two years. Now is the time to let go.
As I prepared for the final gathering of Saint Brigid’s Community I walked around the church grounds gathering stones for the closing ritual. I got a five-gallon bucket. Listened to the stones and put the ones who wanted to be a part of this ending ceremony into the bucket. I found a very large bowl to set on our altar in which I was going to place the stones in water. I counted the stones as I took them out of the bucket to make sure I had plenty. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9…44. Synchronicity. Without knowing it, I had gathered 44 stones. Four—the four directions—completeness—44—double completeness. Indeed, this would be the final night. The work was done.
Thursday night, Saint Brigid’s Community prayed and celebrated the Eucharist together for the last time. We prayed the prayers of Saint Brigid. We remembered those who have been a part of our journey. We gave thanks for those who had discerned their call within our community. We wept over those who had died among us. We took our stones out of the waters of the transformative work of this community and we built an Ebenezer, a reminder that we have walked this way with God. God changed our lives. While God is not done with us as individuals, the cycle of life has come to its completion in Saint Brigid’s Community. Through this ending, something new will be born. This we do believe. It is time to let go. Good night.
One of us said, “Hey, when we get back to Phoenix, we should start a group.”
The other one said, “Yeah, for young adults.”
“We should name it something provocative.”
“Yeah, something Irish.”
“And it should be about questions.”
“Yeah, even, the God question. You know, is there a God?”
“And when the thing, the group, is over, done, dead, we’ll know it.”
“Yeah, and we’ll let go.”
“Yeah. Good night man.”
“Yeah, good night.”
The next day we learned that the Gaelic word for pilgrim is peregrini. A new group was born. We started meeting once a month at Fair Trade Café next to Trinity Cathedral in downtown Phoenix. Soon we were meeting once a week, cooking a meal, and gathering pilgrims who placed their stones in the water of transformation.
In 2005, the bishop hired me to be the chaplain for the Episcopal Campus Ministry at Arizona State University, Tempe. Chad Sundin and I started a Sunday night worship service on campus at Danforth Chapel. Daniel and I continued Peregrini for a while at Fair Trade Café. Then Daniel decided to take his stone out of the Peregrini water. He moved on, but left a stone as a marker of being with us on the journey.
In 2006, I went on another Irish pilgrimage. This time I walked from Dublin to Kildare, the home of Saint Brigid. I fell in love with all she stood for—strength, bold inclusion, and service. When I came back from Ireland, Chad and I morphed the Sunday night gathering with Peregini and changed the name to Saint Brigid’s Community. In the meantime, I was also appointed vicar at Saint Augustine’s Episcopal Parish. Saint Brigid’ Community was moved to the parish. We experimented with several types of services, formats, days, and times.
For the next few years, Saint Brigid’s Community grew in vibrancy, mission, and number. Often we had over forty people show up for worship and conversation on a Thursday night. We had outreach ministries to children, the homeless, and immigrants. As with all young adult communities, the group was transient. People moved on, got tired, confused at times, even angry. Those who left took their stones out of the water of transformation. Those stones joined Daniel’s as a marker of walking with us on the journey.
Then in 2012, I went on yet another pilgrimage. This time I walked across Ireland, 353 miles. My soul went through significant shaping, intense transformation, a soul-morphing. As I walked, I listened to Spirit about what life would be like when I returned home. In the dark forest of Ireland I heard the word that Saint Brigid’ Community would come to an end. Honestly, I didn’t want to hear that word. I ignored what I heard and kept doing the work. I was violating the commitment Daniel and I had made in 2004. I could not let go.
Now its 2014, and in a few weeks I will leave again to walk the Wicklow Way in Ireland, this time with some of the Saint Brigid’s Community. The trip will be a part of a four-month sabbatical for me. I decided a month ago that while on pilgrimage in Ireland I would walk with the question of whether to let go of Saint Brigid’s Community and let it come to its end. But, I had already been given the answer two years. Now is the time to let go.
As I prepared for the final gathering of Saint Brigid’s Community I walked around the church grounds gathering stones for the closing ritual. I got a five-gallon bucket. Listened to the stones and put the ones who wanted to be a part of this ending ceremony into the bucket. I found a very large bowl to set on our altar in which I was going to place the stones in water. I counted the stones as I took them out of the bucket to make sure I had plenty. 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9…44. Synchronicity. Without knowing it, I had gathered 44 stones. Four—the four directions—completeness—44—double completeness. Indeed, this would be the final night. The work was done.
Thursday night, Saint Brigid’s Community prayed and celebrated the Eucharist together for the last time. We prayed the prayers of Saint Brigid. We remembered those who have been a part of our journey. We gave thanks for those who had discerned their call within our community. We wept over those who had died among us. We took our stones out of the waters of the transformative work of this community and we built an Ebenezer, a reminder that we have walked this way with God. God changed our lives. While God is not done with us as individuals, the cycle of life has come to its completion in Saint Brigid’s Community. Through this ending, something new will be born. This we do believe. It is time to let go. Good night.
Saturday, April 26, 2014
The Pilgrimage of Wisdom
Pilgrimage is about the journey not the destination. Pilgrims embark on the Holy Grail in search for the archetypal images found on the path. Seekers wander in the world of imagination gathering the elemental symbols of transformation. The seven symbolic elements, the archetypal images, to be poured in the pilgrim’s vas are knowledge, courage, perseverance, patience, self-discipline, humility, and gentleness. From the alchemical vas, properly tended, will eventually emerge—Wisdom.
Wisdom, many traditions teach, is representative of the Tree of Life, a tree that has thirty-two different paths for discovering the inner divine within us all. Not every path is for every pilgrim. Yet, no one path is the only way. Pilgrims walk their path in order to ignite the tender fire needed for the alchemy of the seven symbolic elements, yielding the philosopher’s golden stone—Wisdom.
My experience has been that rarely are all archetypal elements found on one solitary pilgrimage—instead, hundreds of miles of walking across several journeys are necessary to gather all the elemental metals needed to produce Wisdom’s golden stone.
The correct amount of the seven elements, often are determined through experimentation.
The elements heated at a gentle temperature over the glow of an ember’s fire will deliver, in time, the aura of Wisdom within the soul of the pilgrim. The felt effect of the Wisdom emerges almost as a surprise. Too much attention to the vas causes either the application of too much heat, or the cooling effect of fear, that which halts the process of coagulation.
The gold stone resulting from the Pilgrimage of Wisdom has nine facets, a spirit of generosity, the ability of healing, a vision of insight, a heart that bears light, hands that are open, words that are gracious, feet that tread lightly, a life of efficacious prayers, a calming presence of peace. The pilgrim may need to spend an entire life learning the mythic symbolism etched in the nine faces of the stone. But the pilgrimage stone will yield a deep Wisdom that benefits the souls of other pilgrims as they travel their own journey. For Wisdom only exists for the sake of the other when they desire it. For Wisdom is never for the gratification of the old wise soul.
Walk slowly. Gather the seven elements. Let them age over a gentle heat. Tend the vas as needed. Let the golden stone emerge, as it will. Share the gold of Wisdom when asked.
Wisdom, many traditions teach, is representative of the Tree of Life, a tree that has thirty-two different paths for discovering the inner divine within us all. Not every path is for every pilgrim. Yet, no one path is the only way. Pilgrims walk their path in order to ignite the tender fire needed for the alchemy of the seven symbolic elements, yielding the philosopher’s golden stone—Wisdom.
My experience has been that rarely are all archetypal elements found on one solitary pilgrimage—instead, hundreds of miles of walking across several journeys are necessary to gather all the elemental metals needed to produce Wisdom’s golden stone.
The correct amount of the seven elements, often are determined through experimentation.
The elements heated at a gentle temperature over the glow of an ember’s fire will deliver, in time, the aura of Wisdom within the soul of the pilgrim. The felt effect of the Wisdom emerges almost as a surprise. Too much attention to the vas causes either the application of too much heat, or the cooling effect of fear, that which halts the process of coagulation.
The gold stone resulting from the Pilgrimage of Wisdom has nine facets, a spirit of generosity, the ability of healing, a vision of insight, a heart that bears light, hands that are open, words that are gracious, feet that tread lightly, a life of efficacious prayers, a calming presence of peace. The pilgrim may need to spend an entire life learning the mythic symbolism etched in the nine faces of the stone. But the pilgrimage stone will yield a deep Wisdom that benefits the souls of other pilgrims as they travel their own journey. For Wisdom only exists for the sake of the other when they desire it. For Wisdom is never for the gratification of the old wise soul.
Walk slowly. Gather the seven elements. Let them age over a gentle heat. Tend the vas as needed. Let the golden stone emerge, as it will. Share the gold of Wisdom when asked.
Saturday, March 15, 2014
Epic Dream
Ever had one of those epic dreams? The kind of dream you can’t forget. Even though maybe you would like to? A dream that was on one hand alarming, yet on the other hand filled with addictive fascination. What do you do with such a dream? Run to the “Dream Symbols Lexicon?” Does such a thing exist? Not for Jung. He explored his dreams and those of his patients through the lens of alchemy and the tool of mandalas.
I had another one of those dreams last night. The dream is too raw for me to share now. And I have yet to process the dream yet through amplification, mandala, or analysis. But, the power of the dream drove me post another reflection about Jung’s work.
C.G. Jung’s biographical Memories, Dreams, and Reflections, includes forty-two of his key life dreams. Jung’s dreams and his own interpretation of dreams can be best understood through Jung’s paper, “Individual Dream Symbolism in Relation to Alchemy,” found in Dreams (Bollingen Series XX) wherein he analyses twenty-two dreams and subsequent mandala drawings of a colleagues’ patient.
If you know of an easy guidebook or primer to alchemy—please share. I have talked to a few learned friends and scholars. They told me the alchemical works are arcane, intended to mystify and confuse the reader. I am obliged to concur, especially after reading Jung’s volume 13 of his Collected Works, Alchemical Studies. Still, even though my head is swimming with obscure references to ancient mythical beings, I am being fetched to continue my studies. I have found Patrick Harpur’s novel, Mercurius: The Marriage of Heaven and Earth, like a flickering light from a spent candle on a blackened night. I have come to imagine for nothing more—other than for Jung to appear in a visionary moment and become my guide. I am patiently in anticipation.
There are several interviews with Jung and documentaries about his life available on YouTube. I found them biographically interesting but lacking in the depth found in his writings, especially regarding alchemy and the mandala. That is, however, to be expected. As a novice, though, I found these films a good place to supplement my Jungian pilgrimage. A close friend loaned me Gerhard Wehr’s Jung: A Biography. The work is readable, candid, and somewhat balanced in presentation. Still, without studying Jung’s own writings about dreams, alchemy, and the mandala I would be left without the master’s voice speaking into my imagination.
The more I work, the more I hear, the more I see, the more shocking and vivid the dreams, the more colorful the mandala, and the less I know. More reflections to come later—I need to get back last night’s dream.
I had another one of those dreams last night. The dream is too raw for me to share now. And I have yet to process the dream yet through amplification, mandala, or analysis. But, the power of the dream drove me post another reflection about Jung’s work.
C.G. Jung’s biographical Memories, Dreams, and Reflections, includes forty-two of his key life dreams. Jung’s dreams and his own interpretation of dreams can be best understood through Jung’s paper, “Individual Dream Symbolism in Relation to Alchemy,” found in Dreams (Bollingen Series XX) wherein he analyses twenty-two dreams and subsequent mandala drawings of a colleagues’ patient.
If you know of an easy guidebook or primer to alchemy—please share. I have talked to a few learned friends and scholars. They told me the alchemical works are arcane, intended to mystify and confuse the reader. I am obliged to concur, especially after reading Jung’s volume 13 of his Collected Works, Alchemical Studies. Still, even though my head is swimming with obscure references to ancient mythical beings, I am being fetched to continue my studies. I have found Patrick Harpur’s novel, Mercurius: The Marriage of Heaven and Earth, like a flickering light from a spent candle on a blackened night. I have come to imagine for nothing more—other than for Jung to appear in a visionary moment and become my guide. I am patiently in anticipation.
There are several interviews with Jung and documentaries about his life available on YouTube. I found them biographically interesting but lacking in the depth found in his writings, especially regarding alchemy and the mandala. That is, however, to be expected. As a novice, though, I found these films a good place to supplement my Jungian pilgrimage. A close friend loaned me Gerhard Wehr’s Jung: A Biography. The work is readable, candid, and somewhat balanced in presentation. Still, without studying Jung’s own writings about dreams, alchemy, and the mandala I would be left without the master’s voice speaking into my imagination.
The more I work, the more I hear, the more I see, the more shocking and vivid the dreams, the more colorful the mandala, and the less I know. More reflections to come later—I need to get back last night’s dream.
Wednesday, February 05, 2014
Following The Red Book dream
Several boxes of my journals are stacked in the garage. I probably should burn them sooner than later—I’m not getting any younger. Those journals go back to my high school days. I really should burn them. But, they come in handy once in while. On those occasions, when life circumstances cause me to spend considerable time in deep reflection, I often wander through my old journals—looking for dreams. Thumbing through pages looking for when the unconscious was prompting me to be aware or to go on a journey. One such dream appeared a few years ago.
I was walking through a vast ancient library, much like the library at Trinity College, Dublin. The walls were high, filled with great books. I walked down the hall of ancient and rare volumes and turned into a corridor where the lights were very dim. Along one side of the mahogany wall was an inset. A bright light shone from the glass case. When I got to the case I saw a red book. I knew the title was in an ancient language that I didn’t understand. A curator came and lifted the red book out of the case and gave it to me. I could tell the book was very special. But, I didn’t want to look in the book. I felt it would lead me into a frightening place. The curator insisted I take the book.
In the fall of 2013 I began to discover the meaning of that dream. A friend who is a Jungian therapist recommended I take a close look at C.G Jung’s The Red Book. I have subsequently purchased both the illustrated copy (made available in 2009) and the reader’s edition (released in 2012). Recently, I finished the reader’s version (and the in depth preface and countless footnotes) for what I know will be the first of many times through. I have spent hours studying Jung’s mandalas and paintings in the illustration copy. I am just getting started.
Beginning in 1913 Jung engaged in a self-experiment with the “confrontation of the unconscious.” He recorded his fantasies, visions, and dreams, first in several black notebooks. Then in a red leather book using calligraphy, he transcribed his experiences including his personal art. In 1930 he left the experiment and the book unfinished. Jung died in 1961. While it was common knowledge the book existed, it was kept from publication. In 2000 the family trust decided to enlist experts to prepare the book for publication.
I have read Jung’s Memories, Dreams, Reflections, Man and His Symbols, Psychological Types, Answer to Job, Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle, several papers including “Introduction to the Religious and Psychological Problems of Alchemy,” and am now working my way through Modern Man in Search of a Soul, Dreams, and Alchemical Studies. All of this reading and study became much clearer after diving into the deep end of the unconscious through The Red Book.
I have no interest in reviewing Jung’s books or writing my own book on his work. There is no need for such a monumental effort that has already been well documented by many who are vastly more qualified than me, a simply devotee of Jung. My desire is to simply offer my reflections about the impact of Jung’s work on my life. I do this in order to follow out the direction of my dream a few years ago; a dream that I did not know the meaning until my friend pointed me in the direction of Jung’s The Red Book. Both, I believe, appeared in my dream before I knew of the book’s existence. More to follow.
I was walking through a vast ancient library, much like the library at Trinity College, Dublin. The walls were high, filled with great books. I walked down the hall of ancient and rare volumes and turned into a corridor where the lights were very dim. Along one side of the mahogany wall was an inset. A bright light shone from the glass case. When I got to the case I saw a red book. I knew the title was in an ancient language that I didn’t understand. A curator came and lifted the red book out of the case and gave it to me. I could tell the book was very special. But, I didn’t want to look in the book. I felt it would lead me into a frightening place. The curator insisted I take the book.
In the fall of 2013 I began to discover the meaning of that dream. A friend who is a Jungian therapist recommended I take a close look at C.G Jung’s The Red Book. I have subsequently purchased both the illustrated copy (made available in 2009) and the reader’s edition (released in 2012). Recently, I finished the reader’s version (and the in depth preface and countless footnotes) for what I know will be the first of many times through. I have spent hours studying Jung’s mandalas and paintings in the illustration copy. I am just getting started.
Beginning in 1913 Jung engaged in a self-experiment with the “confrontation of the unconscious.” He recorded his fantasies, visions, and dreams, first in several black notebooks. Then in a red leather book using calligraphy, he transcribed his experiences including his personal art. In 1930 he left the experiment and the book unfinished. Jung died in 1961. While it was common knowledge the book existed, it was kept from publication. In 2000 the family trust decided to enlist experts to prepare the book for publication.
I have read Jung’s Memories, Dreams, Reflections, Man and His Symbols, Psychological Types, Answer to Job, Synchronicity: An Acausal Connecting Principle, several papers including “Introduction to the Religious and Psychological Problems of Alchemy,” and am now working my way through Modern Man in Search of a Soul, Dreams, and Alchemical Studies. All of this reading and study became much clearer after diving into the deep end of the unconscious through The Red Book.
I have no interest in reviewing Jung’s books or writing my own book on his work. There is no need for such a monumental effort that has already been well documented by many who are vastly more qualified than me, a simply devotee of Jung. My desire is to simply offer my reflections about the impact of Jung’s work on my life. I do this in order to follow out the direction of my dream a few years ago; a dream that I did not know the meaning until my friend pointed me in the direction of Jung’s The Red Book. Both, I believe, appeared in my dream before I knew of the book’s existence. More to follow.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Visions, Dreams, Imaginations
I have been thinking quite a bit about visions, dreams, and imagination in the context of a community. Too many times I find myself using these words interchangeably. But, in the conversation within community, these words, I believe, take on their own distinctive perspective.
Visions are somewhat like apparitions. Those things we see with the mind’s eye. Visions have their genesis from outside our consciousness and apart from our personal unconscious. In other words, a vision is given to the one having the vision. Like reading a book or watching a movie. We see what someone else is thinking but our interpretation is needed to see another dimension of the story. The perspective only we can understand because of what we bring to the vision. Often, we give language to the vision, as God showing us a picture of the future. Indeed, the message may be from God, inspired through Holy Scripture, music, nature, another person, or other mediums through which the Spirit of God speaks. The measure of God’s visions, however, is that while the vision may emerge through an individual—visions appear for the sake of the community of God’s people. God vision’s are for the sake of the many and serve the collective.
Dreams are the work of the unconscious while we are asleep. Our dreams are most often the work of our personal unconscious trying to get our attention about something we as individuals need to work on. Yet, there are times, the collective unconscious will arise through an individual’s dream in order to speak about an action the community needs to move on. As in the case of visions, the bible is full of examples of the collective unconscious, the communion of saints, indeed God, speaking to the community through the dreams of an individual. Once again, these types of dreams can be intended for the community only if they are for the benefit of the community. A good example of mistaking an individual dream for a community dream is Joseph in Genesis. He told his brothers his dream, believing the dream was for their benefit. The dream was clearly for Joseph and for him alone, even though it involved the future of his family. True, had Joseph not been sold into slavery and banished to Egypt the end result may have disastrous. Yet, if we trust the efficacy of God and that of the collective unconscious, Joseph would have walked his pilgrimage down some other path, leading to the fulfillment of his purpose for the benefit of his family. Work with your dreams. Build a relationship with your dreams. Learn to trust them.
Imaginations are the works of the holy stare, contemplation, day-dreams. Imagination has the power of the conscious infused with the liberation of the unconscious. Imagination is the incubator for creativity. Holy rumination can give birth to a new possibility. Frankly, the Christian Church and religion in general could benefit from some fresh imaginationing.
If you have a vision, a dream, an imagination, talk about it with a spiritual mentor, a holy friend. Try it out and see if the vision, dream, imagination has some legs. Then voice the vision, dream, imagination into the community. Listen to the response. Is there resonance in the community? Others may see your vision and if they do, then the vision will take on a life of its own. In that moment the Spirit of God can do some amazing co-creation.
Visions, dreams, and imaginations—are the cosmic makings, the stuff, of being present to this specific moment in this time of life. While the results of visions, dreams, imaginations released into the universe may not be realized in our lifetime, they must be spoken into the cosmos. For sure, then, our visions, dreams, and imaginations will never feel the energy of light if they are never acted upon. Visions, dreams, and imaginations simply swimming in the mystic darkness without being spoken into the universe will exist in loneliness. Despairing of never having the chance to emerge and live in the exuberance of lightened freedom. Have courage. Suck in a deep gulp of air. Exhale the volume of what only you can breathe into the mystic milieu. We all need some true and holy visions, dreams, imaginations.
Visions are somewhat like apparitions. Those things we see with the mind’s eye. Visions have their genesis from outside our consciousness and apart from our personal unconscious. In other words, a vision is given to the one having the vision. Like reading a book or watching a movie. We see what someone else is thinking but our interpretation is needed to see another dimension of the story. The perspective only we can understand because of what we bring to the vision. Often, we give language to the vision, as God showing us a picture of the future. Indeed, the message may be from God, inspired through Holy Scripture, music, nature, another person, or other mediums through which the Spirit of God speaks. The measure of God’s visions, however, is that while the vision may emerge through an individual—visions appear for the sake of the community of God’s people. God vision’s are for the sake of the many and serve the collective.
Dreams are the work of the unconscious while we are asleep. Our dreams are most often the work of our personal unconscious trying to get our attention about something we as individuals need to work on. Yet, there are times, the collective unconscious will arise through an individual’s dream in order to speak about an action the community needs to move on. As in the case of visions, the bible is full of examples of the collective unconscious, the communion of saints, indeed God, speaking to the community through the dreams of an individual. Once again, these types of dreams can be intended for the community only if they are for the benefit of the community. A good example of mistaking an individual dream for a community dream is Joseph in Genesis. He told his brothers his dream, believing the dream was for their benefit. The dream was clearly for Joseph and for him alone, even though it involved the future of his family. True, had Joseph not been sold into slavery and banished to Egypt the end result may have disastrous. Yet, if we trust the efficacy of God and that of the collective unconscious, Joseph would have walked his pilgrimage down some other path, leading to the fulfillment of his purpose for the benefit of his family. Work with your dreams. Build a relationship with your dreams. Learn to trust them.
Imaginations are the works of the holy stare, contemplation, day-dreams. Imagination has the power of the conscious infused with the liberation of the unconscious. Imagination is the incubator for creativity. Holy rumination can give birth to a new possibility. Frankly, the Christian Church and religion in general could benefit from some fresh imaginationing.
If you have a vision, a dream, an imagination, talk about it with a spiritual mentor, a holy friend. Try it out and see if the vision, dream, imagination has some legs. Then voice the vision, dream, imagination into the community. Listen to the response. Is there resonance in the community? Others may see your vision and if they do, then the vision will take on a life of its own. In that moment the Spirit of God can do some amazing co-creation.
Visions, dreams, and imaginations—are the cosmic makings, the stuff, of being present to this specific moment in this time of life. While the results of visions, dreams, imaginations released into the universe may not be realized in our lifetime, they must be spoken into the cosmos. For sure, then, our visions, dreams, and imaginations will never feel the energy of light if they are never acted upon. Visions, dreams, and imaginations simply swimming in the mystic darkness without being spoken into the universe will exist in loneliness. Despairing of never having the chance to emerge and live in the exuberance of lightened freedom. Have courage. Suck in a deep gulp of air. Exhale the volume of what only you can breathe into the mystic milieu. We all need some true and holy visions, dreams, imaginations.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
A Woman of Salt: A Novel
A Woman of Salt is a stunning poetic essay on suffering. I found myself wincing and weeping throughout. I was consumed by Mary Potter Engel’s narrative on the life of a young intellectual who was dragged through the foggy world of self-reflection. Hurtling towards the impending death of her abusive and estranged mother, Ruth confronts her buried memories. She battles the demons caused by her mentally ill mother and her own choices in an attempt to escape. Evil feels somehow filthier when enacted by the one who gave us birth.
Engel ripped open my soul, causing me to question my own understanding of relationships, vulnerability, and suffering. I wanted to crawl into Ruth’s skin and feel every ounce of her anguish.
Engel, a former professor of Christian theology who converted to Judaism, weaves her gift of biblical insight into the narrative using creative Midrash. Each chapter of Ruth’s journey is juxtaposed against Engel’s interpretative unpacking of the biblical story of Lot’s wife—the woman, who upon looking into the eyes of her burning past, was emblazoned into a pillar of salt. The power line of the novel’s characters combine with the brilliance of Engel’s theological construction like therapy for suppression of trauma. The dangers of religious fundamentalism are replete in almost every theme in the novella. I wondered throughout the novel which character would become memorialized in a pillar of salt from looking over their shoulder.
“Not one of us can help succumbing to the endemic power that eternally tempts us to re-create our past in a beauty that renders us tolerable to ourselves: to be human is to deceive ourselves,” writes Engel.
The author draws the reader into the gut-wrenching world of self-reflection. Anyone who is willing to trespass into this raw tale of psychic damage and brutalized intimacy must be ready to consider their own role in the conflict. Written almost as a lucid dream, readers could find a bit of their own disturbing and hidden self in every character.
The novella appears to be autobiographical. Engel writes her theological expose with authority. Yet, A Woman of Salt is experimental. The voice of each novella chapter alternates from the first person to third person, then back again. The technique left me with a sense of reading a series of thematic short stories. Until I understood the author’s style, I kept going back to the previous chapter to see if I had misread. Almost as if I was reading three books simultaneously. While not bothered by the technique itself, I am not convinced alternating the storyteller’s point of view added depth to the novella portion of the book. The storyline was powerful on its own merit.
Reading A Woman of Salt is a spiritual experience. We are invited to enter the story in order to find our way of being honest about our past, as well as seeking a hope for our future.
Engel ripped open my soul, causing me to question my own understanding of relationships, vulnerability, and suffering. I wanted to crawl into Ruth’s skin and feel every ounce of her anguish.
Engel, a former professor of Christian theology who converted to Judaism, weaves her gift of biblical insight into the narrative using creative Midrash. Each chapter of Ruth’s journey is juxtaposed against Engel’s interpretative unpacking of the biblical story of Lot’s wife—the woman, who upon looking into the eyes of her burning past, was emblazoned into a pillar of salt. The power line of the novel’s characters combine with the brilliance of Engel’s theological construction like therapy for suppression of trauma. The dangers of religious fundamentalism are replete in almost every theme in the novella. I wondered throughout the novel which character would become memorialized in a pillar of salt from looking over their shoulder.
“Not one of us can help succumbing to the endemic power that eternally tempts us to re-create our past in a beauty that renders us tolerable to ourselves: to be human is to deceive ourselves,” writes Engel.
The author draws the reader into the gut-wrenching world of self-reflection. Anyone who is willing to trespass into this raw tale of psychic damage and brutalized intimacy must be ready to consider their own role in the conflict. Written almost as a lucid dream, readers could find a bit of their own disturbing and hidden self in every character.
The novella appears to be autobiographical. Engel writes her theological expose with authority. Yet, A Woman of Salt is experimental. The voice of each novella chapter alternates from the first person to third person, then back again. The technique left me with a sense of reading a series of thematic short stories. Until I understood the author’s style, I kept going back to the previous chapter to see if I had misread. Almost as if I was reading three books simultaneously. While not bothered by the technique itself, I am not convinced alternating the storyteller’s point of view added depth to the novella portion of the book. The storyline was powerful on its own merit.
Reading A Woman of Salt is a spiritual experience. We are invited to enter the story in order to find our way of being honest about our past, as well as seeking a hope for our future.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Review of Zealot: The Life and Times of Jesus of Nazareth
During the last 100 years, the academic quest for the historical Jesus has wandered through at least three major cycles of research and publication. The work to uncover the Jesus “behind the text” has been almost impossible. Without fail, writers with conclusions landing outside creedal orthodoxy find their books being read more for the controversial content than for the author’s insights. Reza Aslan’s Zealot: The Life and Time of Jesus of Nazareth moved critical review into an unfortunate position. Much of the initial criticism levied at Aslan was more about Islamophobia than his progressive views of Jesus. Still, as if by design, immediately after Aslan’s now infamous interview with Fox News’ Lauren Green, his ratings on Amazon shot to the top and his publisher printed another 50,000 copies. A week after the interview, Zealot was number one on the New York Times Bestseller List.
Aslan’s historical Jesus is a zealous revolutionary, who in the name of Yahweh sacrifices all to overthrow the Roman oppression. Jesus of Nazareth is not the Son of God, but the Gospel of Mark’s Son of Man. Jesus zealously follows God’s commands for the sake of God’s people. He lives his life in defiance of the occupier leading to his crucifixion—as all others who would dare defy Roman’s crush. Aslan dismisses creedal absolutes—the virgin birth, the divinity of Jesus, and bodily resurrection. He does so with a bibliography that reads like a who’s who of the last twenty-five years of liberal historical Jesus research. Not surprisingly, his conclusions are little more than a compilation of the likes of John P. Meier, John Dominic Crossan, Marcus Borg, among other Jesus scholars.
Surprisingly, Aslan’s does not fully deconstruct the miracles of Jesus. However, he does place them alongside Jesus’ contemporaries who are magic workers. Aslan’s depiction of the resurrection is quite similar to that of the former Archbishop of Canterbury Rowan Williams. Where in his book, Resurrection: Interpreting the Easter Gospel, Williams writes that, “something happened,” on Easter morning. Such acknowledgment by Aslan about the critical event in the life of Jesus the Christ, is quite affirming, especially from a non-Christian.
Interestingly, while conservatives are up in arms about Aslan’s portrayal of Jesus, they have said little about his quick deconstruction of the New Testament Paul. In the final chapter the author states that Paul had little concern for the human Jesus of Nazareth. Instead, Aslan suggests Paul built a new religion based upon his mystical experience with the resurrected Jesus Christ. Instead of Paul, Reza focuses on the story of the early church found in the Acts of the Apostles. The conflict between Paul and the trio of James, Peter, and John, for Aslan, is the blame for the loss of the historical Jesus. Paul, the victor in the first century church wars replaces Jesus of Nazareth with Jesus Christ, in order to make his new religion more palatable to the Romans.
In the end the question Reza Aslan leaves his reader is—can you be a follower of Jesus, if left with the historical Jesus found in the Gospel of Mark, (which has neither the birth nor the resurrection narratives). And are you be a part of the Christian Church conceived of by James, the brother of Jesus, (sans any writings of Paul)?
Monday, July 15, 2013
Formation of the Community in a Village
Cathy and I went on a hike in the Prescott area from Walker to Potato Patch, more than just a stretch of the leg. Near the top of the ridge about three miles into our hike, at the edge of the National Forrest, we met a rancher, his son, and grandson. They looking for trail signs of few of their cattle. The eldest said hello and remarked how it was a nice day for a walk. Indeed, cool, overcast, a mild chance of rain. He told us he was local rancher, five generations he smiled. He asked if we had seen any cattle on our walk up from Walker. We hadn’t. Somehow, walking softens boundaries between people. We began a conversation that would span the next hour, as he would drive his pickup a bit of the road and search for his wandering cows. He told us about how the Bureau of Land Management had reduced his herd lease over the years from 800 to 180 cows. This, he believed, led to the rapid spread of more forest fires. I have spent many summers over the past fifty years in this area and I agree with him. When we told him we lived above the Sheldon Mine, he told us of a time he helped search for a lost autistic boy, finding him near the fire station look out a good three miles above our cabin. We experienced a communal conversation, walking, talking, sharing stories. I am confident we will meet again. And pick up the conversation where we left it when his son and grandson unloaded their horses to gather the cattle they had found. Community building, community work, is done one conversation, one step at a time.
St. Augustine’s Episcopal Parish and St. Brigid’s Community are doing the hard work of community building, one relationship at a time. The parish has recently been given a grant to expand our community work among the youth (6th-12th grade). Through the graciousness of the Neely Foundation, St. Augustine’s will be able to hire a part time Minister for Youth Formation. The last three years, Chad Sundin has done multiple jobs at St. Augustine’s. One of those jobs has been Youth Minister. Chad created the concept of a Village for Youth Formation, a work of building community. The parish, in order to receive the grant, needed to formalize a plan, which prompted the writing of a document you will find in the next post. I have separated the Village plan from this post in order that our parishioners, or anyone else, can find our model of Youth Formation. We believe youth formation does not stand alone. Neither does childhood formation, young adult formation, or adult formation—all community formation must be integrated into a community-wide village understanding.
There are three loaded words in the title of this essay, formation, community, village. These words can be trite and over used. However, my hope is that my musings for the next few posts will be the beginning of a dialogue about the integration of the “Formation of Community in a Village.”
The promptings of my scribblings are multilayered. Feeling that I am in a state of unconscious imagination and at the same time, the conscious reality—what has happened over the past few days moved me to write; some synchronistic events, including the grant, a few edgy conversations among friends, more than one mystical encounter, a dream that woke me in a frenzy of confusion, an encounter with a Prescott rancher—these experiences nudged me out of a zone of “all is well,” near the fray of the frazzled edge of the circle of leadership.
My belief is that building community is grounded within the work of the Formation of a Village. However, in the twenty-first century, both community building and formation work are not done the same as just twenty years ago. Not long ago, doing the work of community building happened among a homogenous group. Most churches at one time had some sense of communal homogeneity to hold them together. Therefore leadership could invoke dogmatism and creedal uniformity as the codifying agents. Now we live under another truth. We work in a post-Christian, post-denominational, post-institutionalism—religious hegemony has been left in the ashes of cultural and religious pluralism, thank God. We come from varying backgrounds with a different understanding, but we are still seeking community. The rancher along the road may have a different understanding of life than Cathy and me, but we both want what is best for the ecology of the Prescott area, for the community.
To the point, community building—we yearn for it, we love it, we hate it, community makes us, breaks us, hurts us, bleeds our heart. We crave it, the longing, the hopefulness, the dangerous wire-walking, the slippery mud covered shit strewn sheep-path falling down, while walking up hill. Yet, most of the time we are not that good at creating real sustainable community. Can we master it? No. We can only pray and weep and be present—sometimes causing suffering, scaring, and still builds healing. And, oddly enough, we dare teach this as a strange path towards community development. We ache for the community experience—the dream of authentic relationships. Such work, what we call community villaging, is hard. And in the context of spiritual pluralism, this community building demands Formation threaded across our differences of every sort; one step, one conversation, one cup of coffee, one beer, one relationship at a time.
Tuesday, July 09, 2013
The Imagined is Real
“The real is imagined and the imagined is real,” said Irish author Colum McCann. The award winning author’s latest novel is Transatlantic. Last night I watched an interview of McCann on PBS. There are two reasons I am sharing this interview. First, McCann’s comment about writing being a rare moment when the author enters the thin air of magic when the real is imagined and the imagined is real breathes, life into the ensouling of the word. For a writer, his statement is one that has found its way into my quote journal. I can imagine I will return to these words many times as a source of inspiration and encouragement. Much like the Buehner’s Ensouling Language.
Second, for those of you interested in Myers-Briggs, watching this interview will give you a perfect example of two types talking right past one another. McCann is obviously an NF (iNtuitive-Feeling), while the interviewer clearly must be an ST (Sensing-Thinking).
When McCann utters the creativity of his soul in the mystical realm of imagination and reality, the interviewer is stupefied. Before McCann can move to the next flow of NF, the ST interviewer stops him in mid-sentence so that the interviewer can try and quantify the qualitative. While McCann was caressing the prose in the intimacy of sensual love, the interviewer was hoping the author would provide him with a step-by-step description of how to change the oil in his Ford pickup. When the interviewer asks McCann a conflated question he answers, ‘yea,’ as in “You cannot hear me, so I will further explain myself because I did not understand your question.” The interview is a perfect example of two distinct, and somewhat opposite personality types, having an important conversation. While, one person is describing the intricate subtleties of a well-played baseball game, the other person is explaining the precision of thoracic surgery. Neither is a wiser than the other, nor out of place, nor inappropriate—simply here we have a beautiful portrayal of two stark juxtaposed MBTI personality types. I imagine Jung would have enjoyed the interview.
Immediately at the conclusion of the interview I downloaded Transatlantic to my Kindle. About a quarter way through the book, I am not disappointed. In the words of the Irish, this is a beautiful book.
http://www.pbs.org/newshour/bb/entertainment/july-dec13/mccann_07-08.html
Tuesday, July 02, 2013
Ensouling Language
My good friend, Dr. Jennifer Botham, introduced me to the author Stehpen Harrod Buhner. She recommended, The Lost Language of Plants: The Ecological Importance of Plant Medicines for Life on Earth and Ensouling Language. I devoured both, reading Ensouling Language: On the Art of Nonfiction and the Writer’s Life first because of my passion for writing.
Good thing I had not read Ensouling before writing my book, which I just finished. Buhner gave me courage to be bolder in my editor struggles. On second thought, I wish I had read this wonderful book years ago. Reading Buhner’s book surely must be like sitting in on one of his writing workshops, or better yet, having him as a personal mentor. Most every chapter is designed to inspire the nonfiction writer to embrace their work as if they were creating poetic fiction birthed from the recesses of the heart. Imagination, creativity, soul—these are the forces of Buhner’s writing life. And he yearns for those of us who weep to write to feel his presence of blessing; keep writing in the face of rejection.
Buhner encourages, no demands, all those brave enough to write to breathe out the words emerging from their soul, feeling for the “Golden Thread,” that which knits every image and thought together in their work. He implores the writer to dream the story, to be the story, to become the conscious unconsciousness of what is being released from the inner self to the outer page. Buhner pulls back the curtain between writing for the sake of telling a story or writing non-fiction to show the reader “how to.” He fetches us to ensoul the language in order to bring joy the readers heart. Writing is an art.
Writing is also a craft, requiring hours and days sitting in front of a journal, notebook, and computer. The writer cannot escape the haunting whispers emanating forth from the simple tools of pencil and paper, blank page. She who dares pretend to write, must write in order to breathe, ditching all other endeavors to pour over the page that begs its own life. Write until fingers bleed. Then write some more.
I strongly encourage all my writer friends to immerse themselves in Buhner’s work. For those that don’t write, but love to read, I venture you will find his writing refreshing and worth your money and time.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Review of Water from an Ancient Well
Water from an Ancient Well: Celtic Spirituality for Modern Life
Written by Kenneth McIntosh
Anamchara Books, New York, 2012
Book Review
Upon reading the title I was excited to embark upon Kenneth McIntosh’s latest book Water from an Ancient Well: Celtic Spirituality for Modern Life. Two chapters “The Circle of Strength” and “The Gift of Imagination” are excellent. His chapters on community and the spirituality of arts are well written and add to the body of knowledge that already exists regarding Celtic spirituality. His presentation of the circle as the overarching uniting force throughout the three Abrahamic faiths is thoughtful and evidently has impacted how he leads a spiritual community. The chapter on art was lacking only in practical application—he could have added a page on mandalas. McIntosh’s adaptations of several ancient stories are well done and worth the time to read and enjoy. He had one story of Saint Brigid I had not read, which is exciting.
Unfortunately, the overall writing has to be considered just above mediocre. I suspect a proficient editor would have helped him reorganize several of the chapters, which would have dramatically improved the quality of his book. He also should have provided footnotes for his work within the text.
The first ten chapters read like lengthy sermons preached to an evangelical congregation who the preacher is trying to convince there is value in the Celtic Christian perspective. McIntosh works hard to construct arguments for the strength of Celtic spirituality and its implications in the post-modern world. He does an admirable job for eco-theology, was shallow on the mystical aspect of the thin place, and misses the mark on panentheism. He avoided any mention of the traits of universalism found within Celtic spirituality.
McIntosh seems to think the pre-Christian Celtic peoples of the Isles were of one spiritual accord, evidence of tribal difference strongly suggest they were not. Then he draws a straight line from the various ancient faiths to an Evangelical understanding of Christianity. He makes this connection without mentioning the pre-Christian importance of The Hill of Tara, Newgrange, Knowth, and the stone circle at Lough Gur. He also avoids the crippling effect of The Synod of Whitby of 664 CE on the Celtic way of Christianity, which, to no surprise, nailed the final coffin in the excommunication of Pelagius and Erigena and their most healthy perspectives of Christianity.
Celtic spirituality has been an infusion of 7,000 years of the human inhabitation of the ancient isle of the stones, mystical dark forests, natural holy wells, and illusive oracle animals. The ancient practices of the people of the Hill of Tara and Newgrange were syncretized into a primordial emergence of the people of the Way (early Christians) who had wondered onto the British Isles during the first century. Later, Augustine of Canterbury and Patrick made their way to these islands to find an infant Christian naturalism already in existence. Wisely Augustine of Canterbury, who McIntosh never mentions, and Patrick enfolded Christian practices into the lives of existent faith practices of 5,000 years. The Celts did not come to see the Christian light as McIntosh insists. Instead, the Celts who were baptized by their tribal kings, kept their religion, thereby influencing the creation spirituality already present in the Hebraic story.
The major disappointment of this book was the chapter on pilgrimage. Giving only a few meager paragraphs to the pilgrimage of death misses the vital ethos of Celtic spirituality. If possible, before McIntosh writes another book on Celtic spirituality, he needs to walk across Ireland.
I would commend this book to anyone who has a newfound interest in Celtic spirituality, especially if they are in or have recently left an Evangelical church. Otherwise, I would recommend one of the books McIntosh quotes by Philip Newell or someone he missed, Esther de Waal.
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